


Written in the Stars

by StellaBruma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Café, Coffee Shop, M/M, Short Stories, Slam Poetry, they're all artsy, writers au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 16:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20195353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaBruma/pseuds/StellaBruma
Summary: Lance huffed, “anyway, who gets inspiration from an avocado?”Keith’s frown deepened, somehow. “Youdon’tfeel a bond with your fruit?”Hunk decided (much to Lance’s relief) to cut in now, “Hey, Lance is having trouble getting inspiration! Maybe you can (DAMN IT HUNK) give him some tips? Being connected to…fruit and all, it’s…impressive?”Keith blinked, face softening like he just realized he was speaking to actual human beings, “Uh, I…guess?”Great. Just, great.--Or, the gang tap into their creative sides to gear up for the Annual Altean Arts Festival!





	Written in the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Posting Voltron after all this time and after not watching it past S4 but cringing vicariously through others? Yes, because this was hiding in my drafts and I felt like I had to post it anyway.
> 
> "I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for their intellects. A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies." ~Oscar Wilde

Lance snapped his fingers along with the rest of the crowd gathered in Cat Lane Café on their Open-Mic: Poetry night before angling his body back towards his mug on the table. He, Hunk, and Pidge had been frequenting this café all semester – it’s close to campus, makes good, affordable drinks, and they all enjoy the different events hosted (not to mention, free admission for students was a plus).  
  
The only downside is that poetry nights are _always_ packed, and tonight was no exception. All of the tables were filled, and the only reason the OG3 (the Original Garrison Group, as dubbed by Lance) were able to score one to themselves was because they let others bring the extra chairs to their own tables.  
  
As the next speaker was setting up, Lance felt Hunk nudge his right elbow.  
”Hey,” he whispered, “getting any good ideas for your story yet?”  
  
Lance practically hissed his answer, “Don’t remind me, I’ve been trying to think of something all night and I haven’t been inspired yet.” He put on his best pouting face, and of course Hunk smiled encouragingly. What else was a best friend to do?  
  
As much as Lance could _appreciate_ poetry, he wasn’t much of a poet himself. Why try and depict something in a roundabout way? Just write it all out, give it character, personality! No, Lance liked writing stories. Mainly short stories, which was becoming increasingly impossible as his coursework piled up and he had to dedicate most of his writing power to assignments.  
  
Stories can explain so much, show so much. Stories can create vast amounts of things: places, people, sights, sounds, smells, entire languages and cultures not found in the real world. Stories can reach far and wide, can be what others relate to. Stories are magical!  
  
Again, not that poetry _isn’t_ magical or _can’t_ do any of those things, but, poetry feels limited to Lance. He can’t make it his own, make it work for him. It’s a great outlet, and helps get him out of a funk, but it’s not where he can leave his mark.  
  
So, he likes to listen to others’ poetry. Listen, and silently critique them, make notes of what he thinks works and what wouldn’t. What he could _feel_. A truly powerful poet is one who can grab his attention with a line, one that washes over him like the first maddeningly perfect wave of the ocean in the morning, makes him want more when it’s over, makes him want to know the _story_ behind it.  
  
And right now, he _desperately_ wants a story. One of his Lit professors recently assigned them what Lance considered to be pretty challenging: write a piece you’d use to describe yourself without putting yourself in it.  
  
It’s the perfect prompt, Lance loves it, and he loves a challenge. It’s just…not coming as easily to him this time, which is certainly _not_ what he needs right now, especially with the submission deadline for the Annual Altean Arts Festival approaching.  
  
Lance planned on entering this year in the short story Historical Fiction category. His requirements were simple: it must be between 2,500 and 12,000 words, it must be submitted along with an age class: kids/teens, young adult, or adult, it must’ve be offensive towards any sex, gender, class, race, ethnicity, orientation, religion, etc., and it must be submitted by December 20th.  
  
He had considered combining the two tasks, using his assignment as a spring-board for his entry, but first he needs inspiration, and his inspiration comes with feeling. So, here he was with Hunk and Pidge, sipping on his ginger tea latte, trying to listen for something, _anything_, that could inspire him.  
  
The current poet is, justly put, bland to say the least. Lance tuned her out after the first few lines, which were about how homely the silky grass hills call for her, and is now only catching parts of what she is saying. At first, Lance was expecting warmth, a feeling of safety, the tranquility of change, or even a message about saving the trees and the bees (because let’s be honest y’all the environment is a mess), but she ended up talking about some ex.  
  
Lance sighed. Sure, poetry is also great for getting through your own stuff and whatever, but this isn’t helpful! Also, everyone has embarrassing pasts with crushes and flings and partners, ugh. _Is this all people write poetry for?_  
  
…And that was the poem. No personal growth, no scheme, no trying to paint a picture. Lance can’t work with that. He realizes he’s being harsh, but he’s not in the mood to appreciate structure and use of verbiage. He glances over to Pidge, who had been idly scrolling through her phone for the past few speakers, only to pause to snap twice as if on cue.  
  
Leaning over, he can see her own submission pulled up on her phone as well as notes scribbled on two napkins closest to her.  
  
”How’s it going over there, Pidglet?”  
  
Pidge glanced up bashfully. “Sorry, I am kind of listening! I’m just worried about my media arts entry for the AAAF this year.”  
  
She sat up straighter in her seat, “I’m getting used to my digital media courses this semester, but they’re mostly geared towards advertising, so I want to make sure it’s perfect. Plus, I want the bonus for fitting it into the theme this year. I will win first for my debut in the young adults group!”  
  
Lance and Hunk chuckled silently as she bent her head back down slightly and furrowed her brow to re-focus on her entry, which already looked _awesome_ from what Lance could see.  
  
Pidge was their resident little genius: she started college at 16 and was able to do so by convincing her parents to consent to her dropping out of high school almost immediately so she could take the GED and some community college courses for a semester before being immediately accepted to the Olkar Media Program at G.U.  
  
It was smart, really, and her motive was to just stay close to her brother, Matt, who is planning on studying abroad for his last year. Lance and Hunk met her in their freshman course A Story is Worth Ten Thousand Pictures, where they mainly discussed theories about their professor being from another planet, and the quasi-Australian accent didn’t help his case.  
  
”We can leave soon if you guys want,” Hunk said, “We come here often enough, it’s fine if we leave a bit early. We do have work due later this week, anyway.”  
  
”Yeah, sure,” Lance said with a wave of his hand, “nothing’s catching my ear tonight anyway.” He took the last two gulps of his latte before putting his cup back on the tray. He did have an essay due Thursday, and an exam in 5 days and 13 hours he had not started studying for.  
  
”We can stay for the next couple of speakers and leave during the break, yeah? Good with you, Pidge?”  
  
”Yeah, that’ll work,” she said, still focused on her screen, “I want to work on this entry, anyway. It’s a few months away but I’m trying to play around with different elements. Layers are my enemy.”  
  
She put her phone down and chugged the entirety of her now-likely lukewarm hot chocolate, fully ready to suffer through the next poems alongside Lance, who felt a little bad about being disconnected from his peers that night. Hunk looked like he was enjoying himself too.  
  
Lance gave him a nudge. “Hey, we can also stay if you’d like? I mean, it’s only another half hour after the break.”  
  
”Nah, that’s okay. I think we’d all benefit from some sleep. Plus there’s always next month for Poetry Night!”  
  
Bless Hunk. Always so supportive and understanding. Lance turned his attention back to the podium and rested his cheek on his hand, waiting for the next speaker.  
  
”Hey,” Hunk was the first to say, “Don’t we know that guy? Like, haven’t we seen him around?”  
  
Lance blanched when he saw who stepped up to the mic, because _no way_, it was that kid who was always trying to one-up him in the writing class they all took together their second semester, and had the balls to say he “didn’t remember” Lance on the first day of Italian back when the Fall semester started!  
  
”_Keith?_” Lance hissed to their, and some of the surrounding, tables. He let out a scoff and Hunk raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
”What’s wrong?” Pidge was the first one to ask.  
  
”This kid’s got it out for me, somehow,” Lance scrunched up his nose, “always so sure of himself and trying to act all high and mighty, critiquing my use of onomatopoeia back in Writing 4 Now, knowing how to ask for directions in Italian, knowing how to fricking spell onomatopoeia. The list goes on!”  
  
”Oh, I see,” Pidge glanced back, squinting slightly, “You know, I think Shiro’s here with him. He and my brother are friends, and I think – Keith’s his name right? – he’s friends with Shiro somehow.”  
  
”What?! Are you serious?” Lance groaned, “How? That’s so unfair. Shiro’s the best TA!” They had Shiro as a teacher’s assistant for one of their classes every semester so far, and he always provided the most different insight when analyzing text and, instead of looking bored, always entertained Lance’s wacky story ideas. Lance’s personal favorite idea-born-from-boredom: space cats!  
  
The M.C. starting calling attention to the crowd, so Pidge simply offered a shrug. Lance looked to Hunk for help, but in line with his positive disposition he simply smiled and gave a thumbs up back.  
  
”Our second to last speaker before the break is Keith, currently a second year at Garrison University, and his poem is titled ‘_Decay_.’”  
  
The normal snaps ensued, but Lance tried putting his bitterness with every contact his finger made with his palm. At least Keith looked totally awkward up there.  
  
After adjusting the microphone with the most disgusted expression on his face, Keith paused when he looked out to the crowd. “Hi,” he started after a short sigh, “Um, my name’s Keith. I got inspired to write this the other day after one of my avocados got too ripe overnight.”  
  
There were some chuckles in the crowd that made Keith scowl, but his eyes flickered to the side and back, and yup – there was Shiro, giving a small wave of encouragement. Lance rolled his eyes. Keith cleared his throat before starting.  
  


  
"Budding in the soil, blanket in the warmth  
  
you start with stretching in the springtime green.  
  
The scent of the sun and the touch of love,  
  
the taste of sweet and the sound of calm breeze,  
  
in no time you’re blooming.  
  
Coiling leaves, stretching to the sky above.  
  
Petals blindly colored with reverence  
  
while you reach and rest, through trial and triumph,  
  
gaze high to the stars while they watch, downwards.  
  
You culminate still outstretched  
  
with gaze tilted and your spirit withers.  
  
Not meant for the stars, others not closeby,  
  
they drowned in cracked clay never planting roots.  
  
As close as you dare, you shrivel, wilting,  
  
reaching above, scanning below, confused.  
  
Entrapped in the light, longing for the rain.  
  
Unafraid, stilled, the sun sets.  
  
In the darkness, another light is seen.  
  
Bright side of the sun, stars that guide you.  
  
Leaving yourself behind was but a dream,  
  
after time, even stars lose their luster.  
  
And so you wander, as your mind ponders  
  
How much can a star burn until it fades?  
  
Sweet starlight, giving aid, leaving debris,  
  
fiery stars that guide and leave. Lonely.  
  
With nowhere to turn, you had to be found.  
  
Something, anything. Man-made light, find me!  
  
From out of the ashes, I am reborn.  
  
Internal flames burn brightly through my shell,  
  
my own light shines through forgotten old cracks  
  
like a breath of fresh air, life has returned.  
  
My old world ceases, and I have power  
  
as burning embers, blooming like flowers,  
  
that still remember the lights from my past."  


Keith straightened up from the stand and pushed his hair back before walking away from the podium as a rounding sound of snaps and some whoops came from the crowd. As Lance looked over to where Keith headed, he saw Shiro smiling and giving him a clap on the back before starting a conversation.

”What’dya think?” Hunk asked, breaking Lance’s trance on Keith’s back.

Lance huffed. “It wasn’t…awful. Definitely needed work! But it was okay, I guess I’ll admit,” he pursed his lips, “I seriously don’t understand how an avocado inspired him to do _that_, but there was decent depth. I mean, I guess.” Lance crossed his arms.

Pidge started to stand up. “Well, lets go over to them! I wanna say hi to Shiro, and knowing how his friend is, they’ll probably be heading out after that.”

Lance was about to come up with a half-hearted protest, Hunk stood up and stretched his back before following Pidge, who was already weaving through the crowd and outside, so they could speak without disturbing the other patrons. Lance blew upwards, then fixed his hair just in case, and followed in tow with his hands in his jacket pockets, weaving through the maze of tables and staff members.

Pidge was already talking to Shiro about her project and what types of work Shiro and Matt were planning on submitting work to the arts festival, and Hunk was talking – or, at least, trying to on his part – to Keith.

And as much as Lance wanted to be able to talk to Shiro, he edged closer to Hunk and Keith’s conversation.

”I really liked the reincarnation theme,” Hunk was saying, “and the theme of life, in general. I always think a lot about stuff like that,” he continued with lively hands, “because it’s like, we start at different places, lead different lives, how is it all connected to past and _future_ lives?”

Keith only nodded before Hunk continued on, “If we can even talk about past and future, given time not being linear and such – unless you live that type of life!” Lance stepped in, his friend obviously struggling under carrying the weight of the conversation.

”Yeah, it was alright for a piece about an avocado. A poem, no less,” Lance said, probably sounding a little more bitter than he intended. It wasn’t his fault, though! Early Autumn air literally bit at him and made him shiver as he met Keith’s glare.

”Alright,” was his only response before crossing his arms, “thanks, I guess.” Keith raised an eyebrow.

”It’s – the name’s Lance?” Lance let out a groan when he was met with only a confused head tilt, “We’re in Italian together, at G.U.? We had a writing class together last year? You hated my sounds?!”

”Oh, yeah, I remember you,” replied Keith, “you write flash fiction with lots of onomatopoeia.”

Lance tsked and rolled his eyes to look over at Hunk, who simply shrugged and opened his mouth to keep talking. Lance decided to step in to save him this time.

”To each his own, I’m not exactly a fan of poetry all that much you know,” feeling like he'd need Hunk's help again to keep the conversation civil, Lance huffed, “anyway, who gets inspiration from an avocado?”

Keith’s frown deepened, somehow. “You _don’t_ feel a bond with your fruit?”

Hunk decided (much to Lance’s relief) to cut in now, “Hey, Lance is having trouble getting inspiration! Maybe you can (DAMN IT HUNK) give him some tips? Being connected to…fruit and all, it’s…impressive?”

Keith blinked, face softening like he just realized he was speaking to human beings, “Uh, I…guess?”

Great. Just, great.

”Wait – you, ugh,” Lance stuttered out, “don’t get any ideas! You’re not better than me, Keith, with your pompous poetry. I’m great at analyzing subtext and your poem was a bit shabby…”

”Okay, Lance,” Hunk whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “he just _agreed_ to help, and yeah I’m sorry for springing this on you but still, an avocado, Lance!”

Lance inhaled then rubbed his eyes. He was _tired_ after today and the prospect of dealing with Keith on top of his workload was getting to him.

Keith seemed to shuffle slightly, looking over at Shiro, probably waiting to leave as well.

”Alright,” said Lance, squaring his shoulders and narrowing his gaze in on Keith, “You can help me.”

”Uh,” awkward Keith returned, “you’re…welcome I guess? Prego?”

Lance’s gaze, somehow, narrowed even further, honing on on Keith’s stupid, shiny hair and dark, alluring eyes – and WOW Lance was definitely too tired, he was hallucinating. “I hate you and your dumb pretty face.”

His face reddened when Keith smirked, and next to them Hunk let out a squeak, then coughed to try to cover it up and ended up choking on his own spit. Thus, Lance had to pat his friend on the back while being reminded of his social blunder for a total of 87 excruciating seconds. When he glanced towards Keith out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man trying to focus on something across the street, but pink dusted his cheeks, making him glow even more in the streetlights.

When Hunk recovered, Shiro and Pidge turned towards them, probably to see what happened and to collect their respective friends to leave for the night.

”We can review Italian before the exam on Friday as well, if you want,” Keith added while struggling to return his face to its neutral apathy, only maintaining eye contact for a few seconds at a time, “if you want,” he added again, softer this time.

Lance rested his hands on his hips, “Ah, aiding the enemy I see?” Keith’s eyebrows furrowed at this, “Well, sure then! We’ll see who does better on this exam, _and_ we’ll see whose entries place higher at the Arts Festival!”

Keith batted his eyes a few times before sputtering out, “Wh- what?”

Shiro sighed and addressed the group, “I’ve been trying to convince him to submit something this year, he never does. That’s why I dragged him here and made him present something, but I had to win a bet first,” he laughed while Keith rolled his eyes, “I want Keith here to be more confident about showing his work to others. I think that’s a great idea – Lance, right?”

Lance beamed, “Yes, Shiro sir!” He was please when he got a chuckle out of Shiro, and his friends. Begrudgingly, he felt a bit warmer when he saw Keith lift his lips too.

”You’re on, then,” Keith said, “I’ll, try something this year, I guess.”

”I’ve already won this, Keithers,” Lance replied with finger guns.

”You can’t be too careful in the choice of your enemies,” Keith’s smile grew a bit more as he and Shiro waved goodbye, and back at the dorms, Lance thought it was a pretty good night.

\---~*~---

Back in his room, Keith opened up a blank word document, eyes straining under the laptop light through the darkness. It wouldn’t be an actual piece – besides, he rarely wrote for other the eyes of other people.

It’s just that, he was feeling inspired. He begins.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I didn't really edit this, and I'm honestly not sure if I'll write a whole lot more for it? If I do I honestly don't know how many chapters it'll be, but the story is obviously unfinished which is why I'm not posting it as a one shot :) Be prepared for more half-assed creative writing within creative writing too~
> 
> P.S. If you think Lance caught on that what Keith said about enemies was a Gay Attempt let me know in the comments!
> 
> "Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known." ~Oscar Wilde


End file.
